Deceptions
by ShyeMyst
Summary: The whole gang goes to an often forgotten place to investigate a murder, but not all is as it seems to be. [Unfinished and unresolved.]Slightly AU
1. The Alleyway

**Deceptions**

**Rating: PG**

**Warnings: Some foul language. Un-Resolved (as of right now)...**

**Pairings: None**

**Summary: Can the Criminologists unravel the mystery behind the murder of a little girl? And can they save an entire family from annihilation**

**Chapter One: The Alleyway**

**Greg**

Greg Sanders looks down the dark wet alleyway behind the shop where a girl was murdered. He doesn't know what he's looking for, but he's sure he won't find whatever it is out here.

Or will he? Something strange or maybe even unusual catches his eyes. It could have been nothing. In fact, yes, he was sure it was nothing, but then again it was always the small things that tended to break cases.

He snaps on a new pair of gloves and kneels down to collect whatever the small parchment was that lay on the ground. It wasn't bigger than a silver dollar. In fact that might have been giving it more credit than it deserved.

The alley cat's meow screeches through the brick wet alleyway chilling any who listened to the bones. Greg found it most uncomforting. He hated alleyways and he wasn't exactly sure just how much he hated them. Maybe it was the dampness he disliked so much, the smell, the close confined spaces or just the fact it seemed like an underworld behind the world in which we all see. The alley is just an endless labyrinth of small roads that lead behind the scenes in some strange fucked up carnival show.

Slowly, he stands placing the small tear of parchment in a small zip-lock baggie before seeing something else of oddities.

Greg did think the crime was odd. A little girl was murdered there and there was no struggle. The crime was not of passion. Or at least he had no reasons at this time to believe it at the present moment anything other than just a strange coincidence. The shop was reported not to belong to anyone. Yet, the shelves were stocked full of costumes, accessories, make-up, and other things needed for the perfect costume and/or magic tricks.

He took a few steps down the alleyway trying to be careful and observant. Two things he'd been working on since becoming a CSI one not but six-months earlier. Again, another feat he never thought he would accomplish after so many blotched tries at becoming a CSI. Walking through the back way around the buildings for a few blocks he would have figured he came upon a shell casing to what he would guess to be an old revolver. He takes his camera out and snaps a few well positioned pictures of the bullet casing before looking around.

Nearly paranoid, Greg jumped at any sound and the sounds of screaming were just that sound to get him out of his comfort zone. He ran down the alleyway desperately trying to follow the echoing bellows he could hear oh so clearly, but it was impossible to catch the screams or where they came from.

Out of breath and out of luck he looked around and he was totally lost. He wonders to himself if the rest of the crew was done processing the store.

Deciding that he best start going back through the endless maze of alleyway's behind this old part of town, another glimmer of something caught his eye. It was crimson blood flowing freely down into the drainpipe. He watches it and pulls out a specimen cup to catch some of it, hoping it would become useful to the crime.

Footprints emerged into his sights and he photographed them and decided to try to tape-lift them, since they were bare footed. Kneeling over, he gets his lift and goes for the next one and the opposite foot. He got his second lift, but then things really started to get creepy around him.

The crickets were chirping loudly into the night. No lights were out on the back of the stores were on. He could have sworn they were, but now only darkness lingers in the alleyway now only lit by the presence of the quarter moon.

Hands come from behind him grabbing him, choking him. He fights against the strangling grips of the madman behind him and he does his best, but cannot fight off the strength of the person holding him against his will.

**To Be Continued...**


	2. The Cistern

_(Disclaimer: I don't own them or know the ones who do. And I am in no way connected to the writters...)_

**CHAPTER TWO: **

**THE CISTERN**

**Nick **

The store was too clean for Nick's taste. There was a little girl brutally murdered on the wood plank floor and there isn't anything even disturbed otherwise. It was almost like if she was planted there just for them to find.

"I thought you said no one owned the place," Warrick says nearly making Nick jump from my already pale skin.

"That's what the city records said," Nick answers walking through the stacks of books now. All of them looked ancient, with their thickness and binding type, not to mention most of them were now missing important features such as spines and covers.

The place still seemed to clean to be a murder scene. The only other thing is it was an optical allusion. Some prankster's big joke on them waiting to come and jump out of the rafters laughing his ass off. Not that Nick was amused, he was very frightened of the idea that they were all in someone's sick little game. He was there once before and he hated every minute of it. Nick had already been down this road. Being led to the evidence to be kidnapped and put in a box waiting for death to find him. He hated the very idea of being stuck in someone's twisted and wicked game again and he walked through the undisturbed books looking for anything that caught his eye.

Then, something did, but the odd thing about it is… why he hadn't noticed it before. The trail of blood leading out of the book room and out to where the girl lies dead. Why hadn't he seen it before? He walks around the rows finding where the blood starts, but there was no particular way.

A book catches his eye. The Book of the Dark Shadow Tales was the name and he inches closer to it pulling on another set of gloves. He pulls the book from the shelf and flips it open to find the book written completely in a different language. But, it wasn't that which attracted his attention, it was the bloody handprint on the spine that lured him to it. He bagged it and tagged it before walking slowly and calmly down the row of books until the blood stopped at a single line location.

Nick looks over the area carefully to observe anything he needs to know and then he found the drawstring for the trap door in the floor. He pulls it open and photographs it before walking down the creaky rotten wooden stairs that he could swear led him straight to hell. They went down forever into the cool dark rock filled earth. Why hadn't this stairway been seen from the first floor? Why was it only accessible to the second floor? Nick neither knew the answers to these questions nor even wanted to know the answer as he walks down the stairs.

Lit by the light of wall-mounted torches Nick finally found the bottom of the stairway to hell. It was marvelous, like finding a new universe that no one knew about. It was full of water and a strange boat to take you through the catacombs of the city. Did Vegas even have catacombs? Nick shrugs it off and photographs the dark wooden well-decorated row boat before grabbing the torch and climbing aboard.

It was like rowing through something that the Ancient Romans would have built. For a second he thought maybe the Romans invaded this continent and set up things for them only to be forgotten about under the Earth. It wasn't true and he knew it, but he had no other way of describing the phenomena that he was witnessing.

Tall marble pillars must have been fifty feet at the most holding up even more glorious and well-decorated arches. He rowed through the open waterway in complete awe of everything. He could only feel so small to this vast place. He snapped pictures that he wouldn't ever be able to explain to anyone even if he tried. It was just something so unbelievable.

Something like awe fills Nick as he paddles softly through the tight waterways until he finds himself on the opposite side. It didn't also ruin him that the boat had blood droplets on the seat and the handles to the paddles.

Nick was stunned when he looks around and found a huge marble arch with a grand staircase leading up and away from the canal. Uncertain upon what he will find once he gets to the top he walks carefully quietly slowly to the top to find wooden wonderfully beautiful doors and he opens them to find a massacre. Blood everywhere a complete tragedy and a complete waste of good people. He snaps pictures left and right not knowing what to do. He can't touch them until the coroner arrives, but he couldn't go back and his cell phone had no signal here. It was just his luck that he was frozen right where he stood surrounded by death.

**TO BE CONTINUED...**


	3. The Garden

**Chapter Three:**

**The Garden**

**Warrick**

Warrick Brown leaves Nick to investigate the book room. He was more interested in the small bedroom just on the opposite of the library. He walks there through the hall. The floor creaks under his weight. A noise jars his attention as Chatherine arrives.

"Hello?" she calls out to the shop. "Anyone here?" Warrick was in no hurry to process the room, so he took it upon him to go down stairs and greet Catherine and catch her up on things.

"I thought this place was supposed to be empty," she states the same thing we all expected.

"This place was supposed to be abandoned years ago," Warrick confirms for Catherine. "Don't look like it now, though."

"Where is everyone?" she looks around seeing none of the CSI's that were supposed to be here.

"Nick was upstairs in the library, I was going to the small bedroom up there when you got here. Greg was in the alley out back, and Sara I haven't even seen her."

"Well, I think I will handle the girl there on the floor," Catherine says motioning to the dead girl.

"The coroner hasn't arrived yet," Warrick informs.

"No problem, I just won't touch her," she smiles pulling on a pair of gloves and starts photographing her. Warrick walks back up the stairs and into the small decrepit bedroom on the left of the library.

Again it doesn't look disturbed. Everything looks just like it should have been. The bed was made sloppily the books were on the shelf where they belonged and even the little crystal figurine dragon's on her nightstand were still there and intact.

Warrick was very entranced with the crystal dragon figurines. He takes one up in his hand and looks at the delicate glass sculpture. Looking at it deeply and seeing that perfect flaw in the center there was like looking through his life. Perfect to the outsider's view flawed from his.

Setting the beautiful delicate glass creature back on the nightstand he looks around the very poorly decorated room. There was only one bed with springs popping out. He thought it was sad that anyone would sleep on such a worn out piece of junk. The walls were rotting and termite eaten, obviously eating through the painting that hung on the wall. The color had faded lone since from too much exposure to sun and to the elements from the open broken window.

Then he saw the blood from one of the broken windowpanes. He picks up his camera and shoots a picture before looking out the window to the fire escape. His eyes widen as he sees the great drop, but he wasn't worried. He collected the entire broken pane he could find and put them in evidence bags. Once the panes were collected he crawls out of the window and follows the blood up the fire escape to the roof. One metal runner at a time he climbs to the top unbeknownst to what he will find up there.

To his surprise and pleasure he finds a complete garden at top. He looks around bamboozled as he walks through the tall forest-like garden on the roof. Fern leaves and twigs, he walks through the small crowded path until he finds the edge of the building. He look downward down at the storefront before looking over through the vast amount of pipes on the roofs of buildings silhouetted by the neon lights of the strip.

He had never even known this place existed until tonight, and yet he's not sure it even exists now. His nerves were peaked and he was watching everything. Whimpering catches his ear and he looks around for the person wining out.

Something catches his brown eyes and he moves towards the shadow in the corner.

"Hello?" he calls out to the frightened child.

He kneels down to eye-level of the crouching kid and offers his hand like coaxing a puppy out of a box.

"It's alright," Warrick says softly to the small kid.

"Please don't hurt me," the child whimpers.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Warrick tries to assure him. "You're safe now."

"They'll be back," he cries pulling back from Warrick's outstretched hand.

"Who'll be back?" Warrick asks starting to fear him.

The kid didn't answer though.

"You're hurt, you need to go see a doctor," he says calmly to the still quivering child.

"No, no doctor, no, not seeing, no," he jabbers incoherently. "Please, stay with me," he pleads.

"Alright," Warrick answers and sits next to him reveling in the sounds of the hooting owls and the breeze rustling in the garden atop the store front roof.


	4. The Safe

**Chapter Four:**

**The Safe**

**Catherine**

Catherine kneels next to the child looking at the innocence in her face and wonders who could have done such an awful thing to such a sweet child. She couldn't have been two years younger than her own daughter. Her heart aches for her and her family whoever they are. The coroner arrives and goes to the body laying face down on the floor. He does his thing always the same as the last one he processed.

He finishes up and releases her to Catherine's skillful hands. She prints her cold fingers. She had been dead for quite a while. She rolls her over and looks at her bruised face and still nothing to tell how or what she died of. Her clothes were perfect, other than a few wrinkles from being flat on the floor for so long. Otherwise her clothes were undisturbed. She took a few tape lifts hoping to find maybe some evidence of what happened to her.

Her mind was full of unanswerable questions as she looks over her perfectly clean body covered in the crimson blood on her right shoulder. It wasn't even the shape or consistency of a bullet wound and yet she couldn't think of anything else that could do something similar and so violently quick. She figures whoever did this to her got her through her back and pierced all the way to the front as the wounds seem similar but slightly bigger on her back.

However, something just wasn't adding up. If she was running away why wasn't she running out the door? Why would she have been pointed to the parlor? She gets up and pulls out her black light. She sees the trace of blood leading from up stairs to down and over headed toward the parlor. No signs of struggle and no indication that she was doing anything else than a quick walk down the stairs and over to the parlor. She walks over to the wooden doors she seems to be pointed to and appears to have wanted to get to for whatever reason. She goes in there to find various specialized items and articles. She photographs the room and the jars around the room not yet putting together the puzzle in her head. Everything seems foreign to her. Herbs and roots she never even heard before. The first thing she found was Truffles. Not even the chocolate yummy kind but the pricey mushroom that is such a delicacy in parts of the world. She peruses the aisle carefully observing the contents in each thing. There were strange rocks and minerals and suddenly it became painfully obvious this was definitely an occult shop.

"Warrick?" Catherine calls and gets no answer. Her phone rings the familiar jingle of some angry chick song she picked out on line and answers it with a very alert sound of her first name.

"Well, I'm at the shop, there's a dead girl in the foyer, one of the shop owners across the street called it in," she stats to her fellow criminologist.

"Well, that's the thing Grissom, the girl looks untouched. Not even a scrape on her. She's got a bruise on her face, but that could just be from falling to the wooden floor…" her attention was finally caught to something.

"Hey, Grissom, I got to go," she clicks her phone shut and walks over to the far wall to where a stack of envelops sits. She opens them up carefully from the side. She doesn't risk the glued on seal determined to send it to DNA later for evidence. She carefully examines the names and goes through them each of them had three thousand dollar checks in them. All from months ago and none of them opened endorsed or even deposited.

"Who doesn't deposit their checks?" she wonders softly to herself. Placing the white envelops in a sealed baggie and walks behind the counter.

There an old cash register sat. She had never seen anything like this still in use. Most of the ones she saw were just for display purposes only. She opens the cash drawer and it was full of nothing other than one-hundred dollar bills.

"Wow someone's making it big," she wonders. And it still doesn't sit right with her the fact that this building was supposed to be empty.She knew one thingfor certain. No one would keep this large amount of money in the drawers without a safe, soshe quickly searches around for the safe.

Walking around the shop, she was now doubting they even needed one. The girl had been dead for at least three days with the smell of rot and decay in the room. Catherine though was used to the smell of death and never let it get to her much. She walks around toying with the wall before finding a loose wall panel. She pulls it to find a lever. Well, she figures what's a lever worth if you don't pull it. So naturally shepulls itand the far wall starts to swivel. She runs to catch it as it turns her to a completely different room. A dark and dank room that smells of must and dust and she couldn't describe all the odors which intrude her nose.

She walks around shooting pictures thinking no one would ever believe this. It was like walking backwards through time itself. There was Civil War swords Revolutionary things even the Declaration of Independence and she thought for a moment if this was the real thing what Declarationwas on display. She did not even try to explain that. Samurai armor and English knight armor and horse gear. Grenades helmets and machine gun riffles. It was like a collection of war artifacts.

Browsing through the endless war time trinkets she discovers the door to the safe. It wasn't as she expected it to be. She was expecting something more modern. Although, she doesn't know why she was surprised at the old school safe, everything else was vintage so it should have only figured the safe would have been the same.

She opens it up to astonished tofind hundreds of thousands of bars of gold and silver.

"Oh, my goodness," she backs out of it before snapping her picture still perplexed to how they acquired all this stuff. It was like she raided Fort Knox or something. She enters the safe investigating the gold and silver bricks confused and perplexed on their origins. Her concentration was focused on the gold. Maybe too focused as thevault's door slams shut locking her inside. She runs to the doorpounding andscreaming, butit was of little use.

**To Be Continued...**


	5. The Floral Shop

**Chapter 5**

**The Floral Shop**

**Sara**

Wandering across the street she found the emotional woman who called in the case for the dead girl. Sara would have started with the murdered girl, but she couldn't stomach the innocence portrayed on her face. So, she decided she'd go and question the person who called in the murder. She walks inside her floral shop smelling all the exotic flowers and their wonderful fragrances. And as it turns out this shop was just as strange as the shop. The flowers were exotic and genetically altered some how, but yet amongst these flowers sat the ordinary and cliché roses, carnations, lilies and daisies.

However, something was there that she was not expecting. There was something that was out of place sitting on these shelves. Sara picks it up and looks at it without saying much of nothing. It was one of those things that just didn't belong there.

Examining it carefully she fought the urge to take it with her to the lab to study its contents further. It was just that she had never seen this type of flower before. Oh, she was very much aware of the different genetically altered plants there were, but all of them looked semi normal or how one expected them to be, except with a little bit more perfection in the look, color and most important to Sara; the smell.

"Hey, um I'm Sara Sidle from the crime lab. I was wondering, what is this flower?" she says to the owner of the floral shop.

"That's a very special flower," she says taking it from Sara's hands. "It's a hybrid. Two genetically altered flowers merged together to form something unique. It's definitely one of a kind," she smiles proudly at the very exotic flower.

"Yeah, well, I was looking around and there doesn't appear to be a lot of hybrids in your shop."

"This one is my first," she smiles and puts it back in her display case.

"I see," Sara answers.

"Were you the one who called in the murders across the street?" She asks looking around her floral shop a little bit more.

"Yeah, I mean it was so strange. I walk by that shop every day. You know, it's just freaky to think that some girl was murdered there."

"Yeah, um. Do you know the people?"

"No, they were quiet. They weren't even supposed to be there. The place was condemned, but it was left to them in their grandfather's will. I've only talked to them a little bit."

"Um, alright, um, do you know if anyone had it in for them?"

"I wouldn't think so. I mean, I didn't know them all that well. They were kind of creepy. I mean, they were into some pretty dark stuff, so I don't know. But they were always nice to me and I couldn't picture anyone not liking them," she says.

"Alright, we're going to get you down to the station and you can give your statement."

"Alright, but I really don't know much more than she was obviously dead when I saw her."

"Well miss, uh…"

"Banks," she answers. "Sherry Banks."

"Yes Mrs. Banks we will need your full cooperation in this matter so if there is any information that you know. Please feel free to come down and tell us, and like I said, we would love for you to come down to the station to give us a statement," Sara tells the shop owner before focusing even further on the flower.

Something just wasn't adding up about it. Not to mention there was a small smudge of blood on the shiny wrapping around its pot. "There's blood on this flower pot," she says out loud.

"I wouldn't know how that got there," she says investigating her own flower a bit carefully. "Some of the leaves are bent to."

"Mrs. Banks has someone moved your flower recently?" Sara questions.

"Not that I know of," she answers clueless.

"We're going to need to process this flower. Is that alright with you?" She asks for the flower.

"Yeah, that's fine, just please don't hurt it more than it already it. Truth is it's nice to know that law enforcement still knows we're out here," she says.

"Well, we'll contact you if we need to know anything else. Thanks for the information," she smiles walking out of the shop with the flower in hand.

Walking to the car something very odd indeed catches her eyes and directs them to the red brick street. There in the middle of the lane was a single tire mark. By the looks of it the mark was fresh maybe had been there a day maybe two by Sara's experienced eyes. Kneeling at the start of the black rubber mark she snaps a picture of it and measures it. There was nothing special about the tire mark. She did note that it was a car's tire and not a motorcycle or an SUV's. Not to mention there was no point in finding the vehicle because all hope was lost of getting the tread pattern of the tires though because they had stopped simply too fast for any to be present. Had they squealed away it would have been possible, but the pattern was just too obscure to see it.

She looks down the lane defeated for the time being and sees a simple silver dollar. She pulls on some gloves and picks it up examining it. It was bloody on the tails side. Observing it a little bit more she bags it and puts it with the rest of her gathered evidence and takes it back to her Tahoe. She looks around and there is an obvious silence that follows.

"Hello?" She calls out to anyone who will answer, but no one does.

Looking around her heart beat sped up as headlights in the distance closed fast into the night. She didn't give it much thought. That was right up until the car slowed and she was pulled inside.

**To be Continued...**


	6. Something's Up

**-- NOTE: I am sorry for the wait. I have been very busy and everything. I will be posting Grissom next and then the happenings and then the end results... LOL so you all get to look forward to well 3 of each... Enjoy. **

**Chapter 6: Something's Up**

**Sophia**

There was something odd in the air. Walking through the long forgotten ghost town, something was not sitting right. She couldn't put her finger on it. The place just didn't feel right.

The place had that strange air about it and she knew better than to stick around to find out the hard way. A dog barks eerily in the distance. It was all she needed to hear to slide back into the Tahoe and drive away from there as fast as humanly possible.

Her pulse was racing as she sped down the Las Vegas streets. Something just wasn't right. She couldn't put her finger on it exactly, but there was just something going down.

"Sophia, what are you doing here? I thought I sent you to the ghost town with the rest of the CSI."

Conrad Ecklie has been many things, but anything less than brown-noser she has yet to see it. She glares at the baldhead honcho with utmost disgust, which still remains simmering under her porcelain skin. Her hatred for the man will never escape her lips. Oh, she knows better than to call him on his ways. Now though, she has neither the time nor the patience to deal with him.

"Where's Grissom?" She asks rather hastily and through gritted teeth.

"Court," he gives a wicked smile. "Case not going so well."

There was some sort of sick pleasure he gained from Grissom's struggles. Sophia has always been aware of this. Again, she will not say anything to him about it.

"Is something the matter?" he asks lingering on their time together. They get so precious little you know.

"Just fine, why?"

"You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Well, if I did that's none of your concern, is it?" she smiles kindly. It wasn't really a nice gesture it was more of an 'I'm going to smile so I won't puke,' kind of gesture.

Something was up and the only person she could trust right now is sitting in a courthouse trying to argue a losing battle.

She takes a seat at the rear of the courtroom watching as the defendant interrogates Grissom with his best of ability. The look on Grissom's face was dreadfully awful. There was no other way Sophia could describe it. Taking a deep breath in a vain attempt to convince herself the CSI's are fine. It didn't work as well as she would have liked.

They call Grissom down from the stand and he takes his designated seat. She sat there at the back of the room with her hand resting at her chin as she nibbled her nails slightly. Her stomach churns more each moment that passes. Each moment that passes, the bigger the knot gets.

The gavel drops and the judge calls for a twenty-four hour recess. This was just the break she needed to pull Grissom to the side and tell him what's going on.

She walks calmly over to him. Her face remains solemn and concerned for the rest of the criminologists still out on the field.

Walking up to her supervisor she informs, "We have a problem."


	7. House of Mirrors

**HOUSE OF MIRRORS **

**Gil **

His blue eyes drift from side to side as he walked down the cobble stone street. For a second there he was certain he had just stepped into a temporal rift of something. It was hard to believe this place existed in time in modern day Vegas. He walked through the empty street of the ghost town. A gust of a cool breeze blew across the desolate street as darkness fell over the street.

He watched with some interest as a man with a long torch walked the streets lighting the gas lamps. He watched this man systematically going to every street lamp lighting them with ease. Over and over again, the system repeated itself and Gil found himself intrigued to say the least.

"Excuse me," he said quietly to the torch carrying man.

"Sorry, can't stay and chat, got work to do," he skittered off into the darkness.

He walked the small block a ways taking glances into the small deserted shops. There was a fabric shop, a shop for stained glass, a book shop, a floral shop, a diner, and of course the mandatory saloon. He stood there for a second thinking a saloon should be filled to the brim at nine o'clock on a Friday night. Slowly, the veteran criminologist pushed through the double-hinged doors. The scene was different than he would have expected. The saloon was covered in dust from years without use.

Without warning, a large clunk sounded throughout the bar. His attention centered as he peered around the room looking for anything or something that could have made such a clunk. Suddenly, in the distance a player piano played its cheerful western tunes and a group of mingling people could be heard in the distance.

He wasn't the type to believe in spirits or ghosts, but this was definitely on the verge of creeping him out. For the time being, he told himself there had to be a logical explanation for the music and the spirited crowds. However, as he looked for that explanation, the answer kept drifting further and further away from him.

Gil Grissom walked around turning over rocks long since forgotten about as he investigates not only the murder at this place, but the history behind it. He wasn't sure why, but he felt like that had some importance to this specific case.

The pale yellow beam of his flashlight swept through the corridors of the old saloon, as Gil looked for anything out of place. Slowly, he walked forward, ignoring for the time being the player piano and the cheerful crowd mingling in the distance. The wood-planked floor was too covered in a layer of dust. That didn't seem out of place to Gil, because everything else was covered in at least the same amount of gray dust.

His own heartbeat could be heard as he continued his journey down the corridor until he randomly and suddenly stopped. There was no logic to why he stopped other than he felt like it was the right thing to do.

"Hello?" he called out, nearly sensing the presence of another person. He turned around and there stood a southern lady wearing a hoop dress twirling her hair seductively between her slender fingers.

"You shouldn't be here," she told the man.

"Where should I be?" he asked, taking a few moments of silence to study her closely.

"You shouldn't be wandering with a murderer on the loose."

"Yes, I know," he decided the best thing to do was to play along with the girl. "But, I want to find this man."

"So chivalrous of you to go wandering all alone in these corridors looking for the man who wants to kill you," she gave him a quick look, nearly as though she wants him to take her to bed.

"Kill me?" he repeated. "Who wants to kill me?"

"My husband of course," she winked.

"And why would he want to kill me?"

"For stealing his girl. No one steals his property and gets away with it." She blew him a kiss and disappeared down the hall. He continued his way down the empty dust-filled corridor until he saw boot prints leading straight to a wall. His curiosity boiled with wonder and fascination at the sight. He photographed them slowly and walked to the wall they seem to disappear behind.

Interested in the wall he felt around searching for something. What, he did not know, or understand, but he was certain something was there. He was about to give up the endeavor when he nudged something just right. The wall slid open revealing a pitch-black hole in the wall. He tried to shine his flashlight, but nothing could be seen. With a certain amount of caution, he proceeded through the hallowed out wall blinded by the darkness that surrounds him.

He had at last come to a dead end. He stood there wondering maybe even questioning what tunnel leads to a dead end. But, that was before the floor gave way and he felt himself falling, sliding down a long shoot he knew not where it ended. Down it took him as if it were sending him straight to hell.

At the bottom he expected there to be a rather loud thud, but, was rather surprised to find it was rather soft and padded. There was no sound, no light, and a musky smell he knew not what it was. Bringing himself to a standing position, he felt around the narrow walls until he saw beams of light peering out from under a door. He goes to the door, which opens ready for him. He walks through curiously trying to see just what it was on the other side. On the other end, there was nothing but mirrors reflecting images of himself back at him.

Endless faces belonging to him starring back at him. Endless possibilities of directions he could choose and all but one will lead to a mirror wall. Contemplation was high in his eyes as he scanned the way of mirrors looking for any way out of this. Before his eyes a beetle appeared. It was rather a curious beetle. One he hadn't expected to see in Las Vegas ever. He watched as it flew across the many mirrors seeming to grow in size the further it came. He watched as it fluttered around and down the aisle of mirrors.

He was lost in that endless sea of mirrors with seemingly no way out. He was trapped.


	8. Chapter 8

Greg

His brown eyes cracked open. The scene was ominous. There was nothing that could be seen, the room was pitch black. There was a deafening silence that brought the young CSI the creeps.

"Hello?" he called out into the darkness. There was no answer. The stifling silence continued to haunt him.

It surprised him to find that he wasn't restrained at all. Though it took him little time to realize that even though he wasn't bound, he was still their prisoner. The room was completely ceiled from top to bottom. On top of that, the room was small; too short to stand up in, too narrow to stretch out on the ground. There was a constant drip of water from the grate in the ceiling. There wasn't a part of this cell that was comfortable.

Sighing, he sunk back down to the floor and thought on ways he could think of to get out of this predicament.

A rusty hinge screeched until the grate was opened. Two beefy arms reached into the pit and yanked the CSI from his cell. He gasped in shock and struggled to keep off as the giant nearly ripped his arm almost out of its socket.

He struggled behind the massive person, scared out of his mind. The man tossed him into a car and slammed the door angrily. Greg sat there bamboozled unknowing what to do. He went for the door, but it was locked from the inside out.

Another man took the wheel and spun the wheels on the way out.

White-knuckled, Greg held on for dear life. The car weaved in and out of the city streets, until they were rural. No matter which way he looked at it, he was stuck.


End file.
